


payment for services rendered

by rhysgore



Series: office affair [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Clothing Kink, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Toys, Sex for Favors, Size Kink, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: Luckily, like any good politician, Armstrong wasn’t above accepting a bribe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> yeah..........yeah........ ..... .... this wasnt a request i just. wanted to do it.
> 
> warning for gendered slurs.

He knew he was fucked the moment he dropped the mug.

 

Eyes widening fractionally, Sam stared at the shattered ceramic, the brown puddle spreading out around it, and then at his arm. The red metal gleamed, traitorously, as his fingers twitched and jerked, motion out of his control. Internal error. Something deep within the wiring- something he’d need to see a specialist for. Something that was going to cost him.

 

What  _ really _ fucked him was the fact that it was his civilian prosthesis. It wasn’t the heavy-duty carbon-titanium alloy that was practically uncuttable and had come with his custom chassis, but the more delicate aluminum one. Calibrated to touch gently rather than crush skulls beneath its fingers. If it had been his combat model, the cost would’ve been covered for him- a necessary expense of keeping one of Desperado’s finest out in the field. But as far as his medical plan was concerned, replacements to the civvie model weren’t necessary for him to keep working.

 

_ “Shit,” _ he muttered, under his breath.

 

It was  _ definitely _ going to cost him.

 

-

 

The payment for repairs was, among other things, a pair of stiletto heels.

 

As far as Desperado’s budget went, Armstrong handled most of the details personally, even though he didn’t strictly need to. He didn’t trust accountants to manage anything but the day-to-day work, fearful that they would either spill company secrets if they learned too much, or “fuck my entire system up”. And so most requisitions- especially the more costly or secretive ones- went directly to him.

 

Sam  _ was _ paid a salary, but most of the money he earned was already funneled into paying off his company debts. At the rate they were diminishing, he was going to be long dead before he worked off everything- the costs of his chassis, upkeep, damage to Desperado property and personnel, etc. Accruing more of these debts was not something he was interested, if it was at all avoidable. 

 

Luckily, like any good politician, Armstrong wasn’t above accepting a bribe.

 

Sighing, Sam looked at himself in the mirror, examining his face first. He’d shaved away most of his stubble, leaving only the faintest whisper of a beard in its place. The rest of his body had received a similar treatment- arms, legs, chest, and pelvis all devoid (or as close as he could get) of hair. His legs were still bulging with muscle- nothing he could do about that- but he’d forced his thick thighs into pantyhose without ripping it, somehow. The heels accentuated the curve of his legs, leading up to the swell of his ass, which was only just barely covered by the black miniskirt he’d managed to get around his waist. 

 

Fortunately- or unfortunately, depending on how someone looked at it- he knew what Armstrong liked. He’d met the man’s wife, multiple times- a small, delicate woman with full lips, shapely calves, and a gentle disposition. Armstrong liked something  _ soft,  _ apparently, something he had the power to break into pieces.

 

Sam had felt a twinge of sympathy for her as he shook her hand- not only because he was sincerely worried for her physical wellbeing, but because underneath the fabric of the nice pants he’d been forced to wear, his ass was red with her husband’s handprints, and dripping his cum.

 

The skirt and matching blouse were cheap and flimsy, but they were liable to get ripped anyway. The lacy bra was uncomfortable, but held his pectoral muscles up just well enough to give the illusion of cleavage. The one expensive piece of clothing Sam wore was underneath- fine, red silk panties with lace trim that bit into his skin. They were incredibly uncomfortable- riding up, threatening to let him spill out every time he moved slightly wrong- but the reaction they would get was worth it.

 

With another sigh, he pulled the elastic holding his hair up out, letting it fall down to his shoulders instead. Staring carefully at himself, Sam applied the tracest amount of mascara to his eyelashes, curling them out to their full length, and a light red lipstick. He’d never really gotten the hang of the full beauty routine, but a little product helped soften the angles of his face, and brought out the curve of his lips.

 

There was one final touch, one that Sam had hidden. He prayed that it wouldn’t be necessary, that he could get what he needed without the embarrassment that came with it, but knowing the senator’s voracious appetites, it was unlikely.

 

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “let’s get this over with.”

 

Ignoring the litany of wolf whistles and the occasional seedy catcall, he tried to keep his face hidden as he made his way to Armstrong’s office. Just because he had to do this didn’t mean he wanted every PMC and their mother to know about it.

 

When he arrived, he didn’t bother to knock on the door, coming right in instead. Armstrong was on the phone, cigar in his free hand, staring at the wall as he made his call. Sam waited a moment for Armstrong to notice him before coughing rather loudly.

 

“Just a second,” Armstrong muttered into the receiver before spinning around in his chair. “Who the hell- oh.” The angry remark died on his lips the moment he caught sight of Sam. He schooled his features almost immediately, but not quickly enough for Sam to not catch the look of surprise, and then arousal that crossed his face. Armstrong pressed the phone back to his ear. “Actually, Barry, something just came up. Very sorry, but ‘m afraid we’ll have to postpone this to a later date. Tomorrow, same time?”

 

After a momentary exchange of pleasantries, he put down his phone, leaning forwards and lacing his fingers.

 

“There must be something you really want, huh?” Sam nodded, biting back a dry laugh. Neither of them pretended this was anything other than what it was- an exchange of services for goods. If he had to be honest, Sam preferred it that way. No pretending either of them had any feelings involved in this arrangement. None of that crap. “Why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap? You can tell me all about it.”

 

With a shake of his hips that he hoped came across as “sultry”, Sam crossed the room and slid lithely into Armstrong’s grip, knees straddling the man’s legs. This close, he could smell the pungent cigar, the woody cologne that Armstrong liked to wear. He trailed a finger down Armstrong’s tie, humming.

 

“I need someone to repair my arm,” he murmured. “The one I wear on a day to day basis.” The hand on his ass wasn’t surprising, but the movement jostling him around made his eyes flutter shut. “There is a problem with the wiring. I’m not quite sure what the issue is, but the arm will break if I do not get it fixed.” He grabbed Armstrong’s tie by the knot, pulling him closer, pressing a red kiss to his jawline.

 

Armstrong sighed, hand still busy giving Sam’s backside a firm groping, feeling him up through the thin fabric of his skirt and pantyhose. “Do you know how much maintenance costs? I’m not fucking made of money, Sam, and it’s not a priority to ensure that you  _ can’t _ break things.”

 

He stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray on his desk, and grabbed Sam’s chin with his free hand, pulling him back to look him in the eyes. “I’m going to need a serious down payment for this.”

 

Sucking in a breath, Sam nodded. He knew what that was code for. Sometimes, all Armstrong asked for was a blowjob- he would be satisfied with Sam on his knees, leaving lipstick kisses along his dick- but for  _ this… _

 

“Anything you want, daddy.”

 

“That’s my girl.” There was a throaty hum of arousal in Armstrong’s voice, and Sam could feel his cock through his slacks. He’d been at half-mast since Sam had sat down, but what was doing it for him more than the outfit, more than the lazy grind of Sam’s hips, was the submission. “Now- skirt off.”

 

That was a little different. Most of the time, Armstrong liked to fuck him while he was still fully clothed, sometimes even ripping the seat of Sam’s stockings, exposing only a tiny fraction more of his skin.

 

Biting his lower lip, Sam undid the clasp, and then the zipper, sliding the skirt down his legs and carefully maneuvering his way out of it. The heels and stockings followed.When they were off, despite the fact that they were barely a strip of material covering his ass and sheer, fragile fabric, he felt exposed for the first time. Something about the way Armstrong leered at him, eyes greedily drinking in the way red silk sat snugly on his wide hips.

 

“All dressed up for me?” He asked, smirking. Sam resisted the urge to fidget, letting Armstrong wind a finger in the hem of his panties, pulling out the elastic and snapping it back against his skin. His cock bounced in the confines of the material, and Armstrong palmed it roughly. “It’s a good color on you, princess. You should wear it more often.”

 

“You think so?” Sam started working on the buttons of his blouse, undoing just enough buttons that the lingerie underneath was visible. Armstrong’s eyes fell appreciatively on his breasts- small as they were, the bra did a good job of pushing them into a place where they looked soft and touchable. “My arm’s that color, you know.” It was a risky move. Reminding Armstrong of who they were outside of all of this had gotten him kicked out of bed before, and that was the last thing he wanted.

 

Luckily for him, Armstrong was in a good mood today, and the comment actually drew a laugh out of him. Having a lapful of his  _ favorite girl, _ dolled up and eager, probably had something to do with that.

 

“I’m not running a charity here. Looking good’s a start, but you’re gonna have to work for what you want.” His hand dipped underneath the back of Sam’s panties, pushing the tight silk down- and stopped abruptly mid-feeling up the cleft of his ass. Pausing, his eyes widened fractionally, and he seemed genuinely surprised for the second time that afternoon as he traced around the flared base of the thick, heavy plug seated inside of Sam.

 

Let it never be said that Sam didn’t plan ahead. Although Armstrong didn’t often feel so cruel as to skimp on prep work, he could get impatient, and he wasn’t exactly  _ small.  _

 

Sometimes, Sam wondered why he was the one Armstrong chose to have these kinds of affairs with. There was probably at least one cute secretary somewhere in the building, a pretty little thing with narrower shoulders and bigger tits than him, someone easily manipulated by money or power who would happily suck his cock for a promotion to a slightly bigger desk with a slightly larger salary. Armstrong didn’t even seem to  _ like _ men, outside of the fact that he was fucking one semi-regularly.

 

“Oh,  _ sweetheart. _ If you wanted my dick that badly, you could have just asked.” It was almost certainly a power thing, if it was anything. Sam was one of Desperado’s deadliest weapons, and even if Armstrong wasn’t attracted to him, there was definitely appeal to having him on his knees. Or splayed out over Armstrong’s lap, open and submissive, letting the man slip his hand into his panties, feel the way his hole was stretched lewdly around the toy in his ass. “Well?”

 

“Hhm?” Sam shrugged the rest of the way out of his blouse, letting the flimsy fabric get tossed to the side. It would be wrinkled, but not ripped- a small comfort. He pressed the palm of his hand against the tent in Armstrong’s slacks, reaching for his belt buckle, only to get a very literal slap on the wrist. “Do you not want to have sex with me?”

 

For a moment, he let himself hope. Then Armstrong laughed.

 

“I should be asking  _ you _ that question,” he said, thick fingers digging into the firm flesh of Sam’s backside. “You might  _ dress _ like a desperate slut, sweetheart, but you haven’t quite convinced me yet. So why don’t you tell me  _ exactly  _ how much you want me to fuck that wet little cunt of yours?” 

 

A spike in the crudity of Armstrong’s language usually meant that it wouldn’t take much for Sam to goad him into finishing this. Nevertheless, he was hesitant to say the magic words, casting his eyes downwards in shame.

 

“I-”

 

“It’s a damn shame you were given an ass this nice, but no tits to match,” Armstrong interrupted him, sliding a hand up to squeeze Sam’s left pectoral muscle. The lace of the bra rubbed against his nipple, and Sam hissed. “If you ever feel like you want a rack to go with the rest of your body, honey, I’d be willing to pay for your implants. No extra charge.”

 

Sam’s face burned. Everything about the comment was deliberate, but even knowing that, it still got under his skin. He could feel his ears turning red with humiliation, avoiding Armstrong’s lascivious stare until the man placed two fingers against his jaw, and tilted his head up, forcing Sam to look him in the eyes. His other hand was still playing with Sam’s plug, slipping a finger inside next to the hard silicon, stretching him even further.

 

“... I want you to fuck me.”

 

Armstrong tsked quietly, shaking his head. “Close, but no cigar.”

 

Of course he could. He’d sung this song before- he knew what Armstrong wanted.

 

“I…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Please.”

 

“Oh, come on. You can do better than that.”

 

Sam bit his lip, opened his eyes again, and pressed his hand along the thick outline of Armstrong’s dick. “I want you to fuck me with your  _ big, fat _ cock, daddy. I need you inside of me, I need you to put it in my slutty, hungry ass,  _ please, fuck me-” _

 

It didn’t matter how fake they both knew the put-on tremble was was when Sam could  _ feel _ the way it went straight to Armstrong’s cock. Armstrong growled, clapping both hands down on Sam’s ass, and Sam yelped, both at the sudden force and the way the motion jiggled the plug around inside of him. He fumbled with the buckle of Armstrong’s belt, the combination of the round tip of the toy suddenly rubbing up against his prostate and only having one hand to work with making it far more difficult than it needed to be.

 

He managed to unbutton Armstrong’s slacks despite the jostling, sliding his underwear down and letting his cock bob free, stiff and curving. As many colorful insults as Sam had for the man, he had absolutely nothing to say about that particular part of his body, besides insinuating that the size might have been more a product of the impressive team of surgeons who worked for him, rather than sheer good luck.

 

“Turn around.” Sam complied, shifting on his knees, bracing his palm against the desk in front of him and sticking his rear out. He winced as Armstrong grabbed his panties by the waistband and ripped them off of him, fine silk and lace tearing irreparably.

 

“Those were expensive,” he muttered, letting a twinge of irritation seep into his voice.

 

“I’ll buy you new ones if you cared that damn much about them,” Armstrong groused right back. He tugged on the plug, and Sam let out a hiss as it was pulled out of him, agonizingly slowly. “Say thanks, princess.”

 

“Th-  _ hha-” _ His voice trailed off into a low moan as his hips were lifted, and slow lowered down onto Armstrong’s cock. As much prep as he’d given himself, it was still a snug fit, hot and big inside of him. “Thank you, daddy.”

 

“You’re being a  _ very _ good girl tonight, Sam. Keep it up and I might give you another treat.” A harsh slap on his backside was Sam’s cue to start moving. He flexed his thighs, pushing himself up and down, fucking himself slowly at first as he got used to the penetration, then setting a more rigorous pace. 

 

The position wasn’t the most comfortable but Armstrong liked it. He got to sit back and watch as Sam bounced on his cock, got to dig his fingers into the ample flesh of Sam’s hips and feel him tense up. He’d always been an ass man, and that particular part of Sam’s figure certainly didn’t disappoint- especially from this angle.

 

It would’ve been easy enough for Sam to go cold fish and force Armstrong to push him over onto the desk, but his pride demanded he actually put effort into it. If he was going to degrade himself for the sake of favors, he might as well do it as well as he possibly could. He rode hard, clamping down and rolling his hips, smirking every time his motions drew a little sounds from Armstrong, knowing the man was almost certainly trying to keep himself quiet. Sam’s reactions were much more vocal, little gasps and moans, some of  _ daddy,  _ some of his name, and some just monosyllabic noises. He was faking most of them, but god, he was  _ good _ at it. Good enough to get one of Armstrong’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling it hard.

 

“You’re so cute like this,” Sam felt himself be pushed forwards, weight falling more heavily on the desk as Armstrong used the change in leverage to fuck up into him almost brutally. His head dipped forwards, the new angle making him fully aware how full he was, and Armstrong yanked him back up by his hair.

 

“Fuck-” Pressure against his prostate made Sam’s eyes flutter shut, and his cock drool a thick bead of precum. Just because he didn’t  _ like _ it didn’t mean it felt any less good when that part of him was being hammered into, sending jolts up his spine, making his legs feel weak.

 

“That good, huh?” Fingers digging into his sides, pushing him up and down. The obscene sound of flesh sliding on flesh. “C’mon, baby, you can be as loud as you want.”

 

That was code for  _ be louder,  _ and Sam obliged, moaning as he squeezed tighter. “You’re so  _ big,  _ daddy- mhh-”

 

“You like daddy’s big cock, huh?”

 

A definite advantage of this position was that Armstrong couldn’t see Sam’s eyeroll. “I- hah- I  _ love _ it,” he gasped, playing along, grinding down with every long stroke.

 

“You like it when I pound that slutty hole of yours with it?” His voice was growing rough, harsh in Sam’s ear. He was thrusting irregularly now, hips stuttering as Sam’s body coaxed him closer to orgasm. “Of course you do. You’re a dirty girl, Sam. Fucking- so  _ wet, _ your little cunt was made for me to wreck it- goddamnit, sweetheart, gonna fill you so fucking full-”

 

His speech broke down into a long string of swears as he pulled Sam all the way down on his cock, and came hard, warm fluid spurting deep inside. Braced against the table, still hard and very annoyed, Sam waited for him to finish. It didn’t matter how many times he told Armstrong that he didn’t like the feeling, or that it was a pain to clean himself, Armstrong still enjoyed coming inside him too much to give a damn about his feelings on the matter.

 

With a low noise of satisfaction, Armstrong pulled out of him, and Sam was about to get off of his lap when he felt a hand grasp his thigh, holding him in place. Confused, Sam hesitated. Armstrong couldn’t possibly have gotten hard again in less than two seconds, so what was-

 

He felt something hard and cold slide into him, inch by inch. Being fucked vigorously had loosened him up a bit, but the plug still sat snugly inside of him, keeping his hole stretched wide, and preventing him from dripping cum down his legs. As much as he knew it was still a move meant to humiliate him, Sam had to thank god for small mercies. Especially since his only pair of underwear were ruined.

 

He shifted forwards, easing off of Armstrong’s lap to fumble around on the floor for what clothing he could find. The stockings and skirt wouldn’t be able to fully hide his still-present erection, but he really had no other choice, outside of sacrificing even more of his dignity for the sake of asking Armstrong to get him off. The very idea left a sour taste in Sam’s mouth, and he decided he’d much rather just walk very fast and hope none of the PMCs looked too closely at him.

 

As he was buttoning up his blouse, he smelled the rich scent of Armstrong’s preferred cigar brand, and heard the man clear his throat.

 

“I’ll have the best roboticist we have run diagnostics. Your arm should be back at peak performance within the week. You can handle that, right?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Sam caught his own eye in the reflective surface of a nearby statue, and winced. He looked like a complete mess- hair out of control, lipstick smudged all down his mouth and jaw, clothing wrinkled, tenting the front of his skirt.

 

_ Ugh,  _ he thought, face contorting into a sneer. The sooner he could clean off and stop playing this role, the better.

 

“I’ll get you some nice things to wear for next time, too. Maybe something in cream.”

 

Snorting, Sam buttoned the final button on his shirt and turned around to face him. “Thought you preferred me in red. What would the voters say if they knew how you flip-flop on the big issues?”

 

“Don’t get smart with me, now.” The words had no real bite to them. Armstrong was always more amiable after he’d had a satisfying orgasm, and now was no exception to this role. He was lounging back in his chair, blowing out smoke, pants still unbuckled and open, smirking lazily. “Now shoo- daddy’s got some paperwork to do.”

 

As he walked out of the office, Sam tried his hardest to ignore the snickering of Armstrong’s secretary.

 

-

 

Armstrong was as good as his word, and better. Not five days later, Sam’s arm was back where it belonged, fully repaired, and with a shiny new coat of paint to boot. The motions were perfectly calibrated, and it had even been oiled, saving him from having to run that particular type of maintenance on it for at least a month. It was a beautiful piece of equipment, it fit him perfectly. And every time Sam looked at it, he felt sick to his stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> [mood music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVMnQ1ypjmY)
> 
>  
> 
> also: [art!](http://rhysgore.tumblr.com/post/159886978612/phase7art-i-checked-rule34-there-was-no-khamsin) ft. bonus lewd monsoon & khamsin


End file.
